


the good interred with their bones

by The_raven_that_never_calls



Series: Dust & Gold [4]
Category: The Librarians (TV 2014)
Genre: Dreams and Nightmares, Ezekiel Jones-centered spinoff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Pre-Rise and Fall, Spoilers for S2E8 And the Point of Salvation and partially S3, The Author Regrets Nothing, mentions of everyone else - Freeform, wish fulfillment from the author
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-11-29 17:23:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11445525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_raven_that_never_calls/pseuds/The_raven_that_never_calls
Summary: “The Library chose you, Ezekiel, and the Library, for all its faults, doesn’t make mistakes.”-  or -The fallout of the Point of Salvation brings about the best and the worst of Ezekiel Jones. Fortunately, Jenkins is there to help.A series of connected drabbles forming one shots on the relationship between Ezekiel and Jenkins





	1. the fault lies not in stars, but in ourselves

**Author's Note:**

> tw for the flashbacks and PTSD symptoms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The fear of loss is more dangerous than what will come to pass."

It's 3 am in the morning and Ezekiel has given up on sleep.

He lied to Eve about not remembering. (He's always been a good liar, his mother, when she had been alive, had always told him so.)

He remembers every moment, every loop, every scream, every phantom feeling of pain only to wake up again and again and again and again and again. He wakes up in cold sweat until he can’t fall back asleep at all as the nightmares get worse and worse.

He finds himself wandering back into the Library, well, Annex, really, because if he’s not going to sleep, he may as well get some work done. Ezekiel wanders into the kitchen to grab his pizza only to find Jenkins sitting there, almost…expectantly.

"Mr. Jones." Jenkins quirks an eyebrow. "What are you doing up so early?"

Ezekiel frowns. "I thought you went to bed ages ago," he says dismissively, still rummaging around for his pizza in the fridge.  

"I never sleep for long." Jenkins' lips twitch into something akin to a rueful smile. "Tea?"

The tea, Ezekiel learns, is non-optional. When he tries to protest, Jenkins just shoves a cup into his hands and tells him that he expects the Australian to finish all of it.

He's tired. Too tired to snark. Too tired to fight. "Fine…" he sighs. Ezekiel begrudgingly accepts the cup and takes a tentative sip.

It's chamomile. It reminds him of his mother—of her perfume and her small, sad smile she wore, even as she was interred in the ground. (His father never was around.) With each reluctant sip, the nightmares—Eve’s cries, Cassandra’s petrified screams, and Jacob’s shrieks—are distant memories.

"You're alive," Jenkins remarks quietly. "You did it." His hands are warm as they gently pat Ezekiel’s shoulder, Jenkins’ eyes piercing and clear, as if searching in Ezekiel's for something. "They're _safe._ "

"What about next time?" Ezekiel asks quietly. (Quietly, because he really doesn’t want Jenkins to hear, but loud enough because he _really_ does want someone—anyone—to know.)  "What if I'm not enough?"

“You are. You always will be. The Library chose you, Ezekiel, and the Library, for all its faults, doesn’t make mistakes.” Jenkins smiles, gently, sadly. "Now finish your tea and go off to bed."

—

—

Ezekiel doesn’t, but even so, he wakes up the next morning sprawled on the Annex’s couch, tucked safely underneath a blanket.

—

—

"Up again, Mr. Jones?" Jenkins voice echoes in the darkness, and Ezekiel nearly jumps out of his skin. It’s the second night this has happened—he’s a little worried that this is going to become a pattern.  Patterns, like rules, tend to come in threes.

"Couldn't sleep," Ezekiel mutters, flicking on the lights irritably. He looks at the waiting cup on the table and narrows his eyes at Jenkins. "I don't need your pity."

"No, but you do need someone who understands." Jenkins takes a sip from his own cup.

"Understands what?" Ezekiel snaps.

"Understand what it’s like to watch the people you love die again and again and again."

They’ve never talked about Jenkins’s past other than how Jenkins doesn’t want to talk about it. But Ezekiel is observant enough to see how Jenkins acts whenever anything from Camelot is brought up, and he’s researched enough of Arthurian Legend to get an idea.

“It’s not the same.” Jenkins, for all his heartbreak and failures, didn’t have to see his friends die again and again and again.

“But it _is_. I was caught in a loop too.”

“When?”

"Once." Jenkins’ expression reveals nothing. "A long, long time ago."

"How'd you get out?" Ezekiel takes a reluctant gulp of the tea, settling across from Jenkins at the table.

“I fought my way out like you did.” He doesn’t go into any further details, and Ezekiel has learned enough about Jenkins’ facial expressions to not push for more. “After escaping, I promised that I would keep the people I cared about safe through any means necessary.” At the look on Ezekiel’s face, Jenkins adds, “It didn’t work. They all died in the end. Well, most of them.”

“I’m…” For once, Ezekiel doesn’t know exactly what to say because the weight of ‘ _what-could-have-been_ ’s is crushing him alive. He is terrified that he’s going to be the same as the man sitting across the table, tired and jaded. He’s almost sorry that a year ago that he had called Jenkins a coward—he had been afraid, maybe, not of doing the right thing but of loving and losing once again. I’m… sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Jenkins smile is sad. “You weren’t the one who killed them.”

Ezekiel knows better than to ask who did. Instead, he asks, “Does it… Does it ever get easier?”

“Yes. With time.” Jenkins stirs his tea absently. “Time eventually heals all wounds.” He gives Ezekiel a pointed stare, his gaze burning. “One has to learn how to let that fear go.” 

They sit in the dim kitchen for quite some time.

—

—

—

“Oh **_hell_** ,” Ezekiel curses when he sees Jenkins in the kitchen yet again. The nightmares have not receded at all, and now he has another one standing right in front of him, flesh and blood. “Why are you always up too? It’s 3 am in the morning. Aren’t old people supposed to be asleep by now?”

“Well, as the Caretaker, I take care of the Librarians, even if it means staying up until one of them wanders into the kitchen at 3 am in the morning.” Jenkins holds out a cup. “Tea?”

Ezekiel groans but accepts it without further complaint.

He has had enough off the screams, of Eve dying, of Cassandra calling out his name before the light fading out of her eyes, and Jacob’s cries, and Flynn—even Flynn—slowly bleeding out in front of him. Jenkins isn’t much company, but it still beats being alone in the darkness.

“You’re afraid of losing us too, aren’t you?” Ezekiel asks after they’ve sat in complete, uncomfortable silence. “How do… How do you deal with it?” 

Jenkins hesitates, and there’s a flash of something darker in his eyes. The look is gone, though, when he replies, “Dealing with loss… isn’t easy. You have to…” His brow furrows slightly, as if trying to recall words someone else spoke to him once, long, long ago. “You have to learn how to let go.”

“And let them die?” Ezekiel snaps.

“ _No_. **_No._** ”  Jenkins face tightens. The shadow is back on his face. “Let _go_ of that fear. The fear of loss is more dangerous than what will come to pass.”

“How am I not supposed to be afraid? We’re Librarians! We’re in danger every other day!” Ezekiel’s voice cracks. He’s drowning again. He can’t _breathe._ (He sees Eve getting torn apart as he desperately tries to reach her only to feel his own limbs being ripped off and then there’s darkness.) “Probability is not in our favor!”

Jenkins reaches out, his hand giving Ezekiel’s shoulder a small squeeze. His touch anchors Ezekiel, bringing him back to the Annex and away from the loop and loss. “I know.” Jenkins’s eyes glimmer with understanding. “Believe me, I _know_.”

The way he says it breaks Ezekiel’s already shattered heart even more.

—

“If it helps…” Jenkins says slowly, uncertainly. Ezekiel’s tea is long gone at this point, and Jenkins’ tea has gone untouched. “I could teach you a few things to help you protect the others.”

“Like what?” Ezekiel snaps. The lack of sleep is slowly getting to him. The worry and the fear is coiling up to raw rage, and he doesn’t know how long he can stop it. “How to be a grouch?”

“Swordsmanship, hand to hand, and the like,” Jenkins replies mildly. At Ezekiel’s incredulous expression, Jenkins adds, “I was somewhat good back in the day.”

“ _Right_ …” Ezekiel pretends to consider the offer, but he knows already that it’s something he won’t take up.

—

—

A mission goes wrong. Jacob is left with a concussion. Cassandra is nearly stabbed to death. Eve is left black and blue. Ezekiel isn’t any better, with a broken arm and an equally broken heart, torn apart by worry and fear and anger at himself for not being enough.

He could have lost them all. If Jenkins hadn’t been there to get them… If he hadn’t been fast enough… If… If…

He doesn’t want to think about it.

He hates ifs.

As silence begins to settle over the Annex, Ezekiel finds himself at Jenkins’s lab, with his hands in his pocket and his feet shuffling, as he forces himself to meet Jenkins’s all too knowing gaze.

“About your offer…” Ezekiel flushes crimson. “Is it still there?”

“It will be there for as long as you want it to be.”

 _Ezekiel Jones_ is never nervous, but at this time, he isn’t _Ezekiel Jones_ , world class thief, but Ezekiel Jones, the Librarian, and that Ezekiel’s eyes keep drifting to the floor. “I’d, uh, like to take you up on that offer…" He adds quickly, "As long as no one else hears about it.”

Jenkins mimes zipping his lips and throwing away the key.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not bad for a speed write, I have to admit. We'll see. I think this is partially wish-fulfillment. (It IS wish-fulfillment, who am I kidding?) Personally, I am annoyed that the only person of color in the main cast doesn't get magic in canon, so I thought, f-- that. This is why fanfiction exists! ...also, I kinda need this additional backstory for the Rise and Fall, so I'm killing two birds with one stone? Looks like you can have your cake and eat it too. 
> 
> Besides, Ezekiel's a fun character to write, and I like the parallels that can be drawn between him and Jenkins, especially with the established character as of the Rise and Fall. Besides, I read a fic that had Ezekiel as Jenkins's son back in the day on Fanfiction.net (I think?) and that helped get the plot bunny hopping! 
> 
> As always, comments and concerns and opinions are always welcome!


	2. the valiant never taste of death but once

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Some old guy said that evil waits for no one.”
> 
> “Sounds like he’s going senile.”

Their first training session is a **_mess_**. Jenkins has him blindfolded and trying to dodge BBs in the process while the old man shouts unhelpful advice.

It goes as well as you can expect.

In the end, Ezekiel angrily rips off the blindfold, already feeling the bruises forming from the number of times he’s been hit. “Why are we doing this again?”

Jenkins stops the machine. “The fundamentals are your life,” he says, walking over to stand by Ezekiel. “This training attunes your senses, so you will be able to see what is to come, to sense what you cannot see. Magic is in all of us. Not in an exorbitant amount anymore, mind you, but there’s enough that you can train your senses to feel it.”

“I don’t feel anything, except the bruises!” Ezekiel snaps. “How is this supposed to help me protect them?”

Jenkins pauses before gently prying the blindfold from Ezekiel’s hand. “Here. Let me show you.” The old man proceeds to blindfold himself, gesturing for Ezekiel to turn on the machine. Ezekiel expects a slaughterhouse. Jenkins, as he told Ezekiel himself, was only somewhat good back in the day—Ezekiel wants to be the best.

Instead, Jenkins weaves his way through the hail of BBs, his body gracefully moving through the storm like flowing water. Even with his age clearly taking a toll, Jenkins effortlessly dances through the gale. Ezekiel watches him dodge them all until the machine runs out of bullets and Jenkins reaches out and catches the last one in his fingers.  

Jenkins removes the blindfold. “By the time we’re through, this will be easy for you.” He hands the blindfold back to a still gaping Ezekiel. “Shall we try again?” 

Ezekiel begrudgingly puts the blindfold back on as Jenkins resets the machine.

—

—

By the end of it all, he’s so tired from the repeated attempts that he’s out like a light when he first hits the bed.

—

—

“You look better rested” is the first thing Jenkins says to him the next morning. His eyes are kind. “Tea?”

Ezekiel accepts the cup wordlessly, already counting down the seconds to get back to training. The fear is still there, ice-cold in his veins, but yesterday seems to help him keep that feeling of black, bleak despair down. The day passes in a blur as he’s busy cataloguing and researching artifacts. By the time the end of the day comes, Ezekiel hangs back, telling the other to go ahead, that he’s planning to do a heist or something plausible, and they head out, disappointed.

(He’s used to this, he tells himself. It doesn’t hurt at all. He’s Ezekiel Jones, Dr. of Awesome, greatest thief in the world. Disappointment is nothing to him. He doesn’t get disappointed… He just becomes more _awesome_ instead.

He’s so awesome that he almost convinces himself that everything he’s saying is the truth.)

Jenkins, though, looks at Ezekiel and it’s not disappointment in his eyes. Ezekiel isn’t quite sure what it is.

“Ready?” Jenkins asks as he leads Ezekiel to his personal quarters, where his personal training room is located. “After we work the machine, I think it would be good to work on some hand to hand.”

“Sounds good.”

—

—

He’s left with fewer bruises this time. There is a spark of magic somewhere, and in that spark, Ezekiel can feel it blossom into an inferno. He’s not always quick enough on the uptake though. When Jenkins increases the speed, Ezekiel is pelted without mercy.

Jenkins quickly lowers the speed, after that. “Baby steps. The fundamentals first and then we can start speeding it up.”

Ezekiel instead demands that the old man turns it up a notch. “Sometimes you have to run before you can walk!”

Jenkins complies, grinning.

As they both quietly clean up the area, Jenkins gives him a smile, a real one this time, and Ezekiel thinks he hears a note of pride in the Caretaker’s voice. “Good work.” Ezekiel knows that he _means_ it. Jenkins reaches out absently and ruffles his hair. 

It surprises both of them when Ezekiel doesn’t pull away.

—

—

“You’ll be fighting this.” Jenkins presses a button on a small, spherical machine that he affectionately calls Bob, and an illusion of an enemy materializes in front of both of them. “This illusion will suffice. I’ve fine-tuned it, so it’s quite a realistic sparring partner.”

Ezekiel frowns. “You’re not going to fight me yourself?”

“I’m an old man.” Jenkins looks at him wryly. “I can’t move like I used to.” 

Ezekiel laughs. He saw how fast Jenkins was getting them all out from Sesselman. ‘Can’t move like I used to’ his ass.

Readying his fists and trying to remember what Eve taught him, Ezekiel charges at the illusion. The illusion ducks under his fist and responds with punch of its own, landing squarely in the solar plexus. Ezekiel stumbles back, the wind knocked out of him. The illusion shows no mercy as its blows rain down on him. Ezekiel can barely just hold his hands over his head and hope for the best.

“Sorry! Sorry! Sorry!” Jenkins finally manages to shut off the machine, who chips in protest. “I forgot to change the setting…”

“What setting is this?” Ezekiel demands, incredulous. Not even a few seconds in and he’s already sore.

Jenkins doesn’t answer. Instead, he hands Ezekiel a healing potion. “Just drink this.”

Ezekiel does and his aches and pains are gone in seconds.

“Shall we try again?” Jenkins offers a hand.

“Fine.” Ezekiel adds a little grouchily, “Just make sure the settings are right this time.”  

“Naturally.”

—

Even the lower settings don’t help his performance much. It’s like the first training session but worse—the illusion, unlike BBs, _hurts._

In the end, Ezekiel seethes, “I hate this stupid machine!”

“Don’t call him _stupid_!” Jenkins soothingly pats the machine in question as if it can hear him. The machine warbles in response. “It doesn’t take a genius to beat him. I thought a genius told me that it was better to be lucky than good. Isn’t that your superpower?”

Ezekiel swears that the damn machine is laughing at him.

Ezekiel is done with games, is done with the thinly veiled barbs. He’s done feeling weak and powerless. Ezekiel Jones is the greatest thief in the world and Ezekiel Jones is not dumber than a machine. “I am a Librarian, and—“

He stops when he sees that there’s a glimmer of something in Jenkins’s eyes. Something softer and kinder, the same look in eyes when Jenkins had said _“I was actually just thinking that I now appreciate the advantage of having both a librarian and a thief.”_

“Oh.” His anger evaporates. “Was that a joke? Do you do jokes now?”

“Maybe.” Jenkins’s smile is softer than usual.

—

—

The cycle repeats for days that bleed to weeks. Jenkins spends an inordinate amount of time on the fundamentals of _everything_ to the point where Ezekiel can do it all in his sleep, upside down, while juggling and playing poker.

In the end, he’s too tired from these late training sessions to dream.

Perhaps, he thinks, that was the point of the exercise.

—

—

When Jenkins finally lets him touch a sword, Ezekiel has finally been able to dodge the BBs on the highest setting and now has a 50-50 win-loss record with what Ezekiel now affectionately calls that stupid machine. Bob is too stupid of a name, even with this stupid of a machine.

“A sword is—“

“—meant to be an extension of your arm?” Ezekiel tries.

“—meant to be an extension of your _soul_ ,” Jenkins corrects before handing Ezekiel a sword. “It’s the same way with the first exercise—feel magic coursing through anything and everything. Trust your instincts.”

The sword feels heavy in his hands as Jenkins teaches him how to properly hold the thing.

As Ezekiel slowly becomes accustomed to the weight, he asks, “So am I going to spar with that stupid machine now or what?”

“The fundamentals first. They’re your life.” Jenkins grins. “Then I’ll let your spar with the genius.” That stupid machine chirps happily in the corner, and Ezekiel can’t help but smile.

—

—

The fear is always there, but with Jenkins, it’s manageable, no longer a monster clawing away at his heart but just a small thought lingering in the back of his head, just under the surface.

It comes to head when their thrust into an unwinnable situation. Eve is dragging an injured Jacob back to the Annex while he and Cassandra are desperately trying to find a way to shut off the bad guy’s machine and fend said bad guy off.

“I’ll take the evil dude. You shut off the machine!” He tells Cassandra, running off to intercept the man before she can protest. Adrenaline is pulsing through his veins. The fear is ice-cold, wrapping around his fist, but the fire of magic burns it away. Ezekiel can feel the sparks of magic floating in the air, sense the anger in the man, and see the man’s punch before he even throws it.

He can do this, he realizes. The villain is slower than that stupid machine by miles.

Instinctively, Ezekiel dodges out of the way before sweeping the villain off his feet with a swipe of his leg. Pressing his knee into the man’s back, Ezekiel merely waits and watches Cassandra save the day. Even as the place threatens to blow, Ezekiel can sense the path magic is telling him to get out.

Hauling the villain over his shoulder and grabbing Cassandra’s hand, he races toward the exit.

—

In the aftermath, Ezekiel finds himself wandering into Jenkins’s lab where the Caretaker is still hard at work on an experiment. Jenkins looks up and grins. “Good work, Mr. Jones.”  Ezekiel hears the note of pride in his voice, and Ezekiel finds that he likes the warm feeling that pulses in his chest.

“It’s all because of your training.” Ezekiel tilts his head. “Are you still free tonight for another session?”

“Take the night off.” Jenkins’s gaze is insistent. “You deserve it.”

“Do I?” He recalls what Jenkins always liked to remind him during every session. “Some old guy said that evil waits for no one.”

“Sounds like he’s going senile.” Jenkins shoos him away, his gaze soft. “Go with the others, Mr. Jones.”

—

—

Even without that stupid machine or the BBs, Ezekiel sleeps soundly.

Fear, he finds, is still ice-cold, but the warmth of the Library and of his friends drives back the darkness. They are more than just a candle—they are enough to light up all of the stars.

The nightmares stop coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My thief child needs some magic...and more love. I personally find it problematic that Ezekiel doesn't have magic, but Jake and Cassie do, and the fact that the writers seem to want to derail any development he may have. So I do the most logical thing and start using some author wish-fulfillment. Magic isn't consistently written in this show anyway, so in addition to the power, focus, effect rules in place, I decided to add in a few of my own in which everyone has a small amount of magic power that can serve as a focus for magic in the surrounding area to sense the surroundings. 
> 
> Doesn't mean that everyone can actually use said magic, but it's enough. 
> 
> Also, I really doubt that Jenkins, who looks to be a magical engineer, taking magic from existing artifacts to create effects, does not have robots...or at least did not try to make robots. We may not see them on the show in use ever (because budget and time), but this is fanfiction, so... Yeah. 
> 
> In case anyone didn't catch it, the machine that shoots BBs is nameless and the machine that can cast training dummy illusions is named Bob aka that stupid machine, accordingly to Ezekiel. 
> 
> As always, comments/questions/concerns are always appreciated!


	3. bid me run, and I will strive with things impossible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your greatest strength is your greatest weakness. It doesn’t lie in magic or up here…” Jenkins taps Ezekiel’s forehead. “But it lies in here,” he says as he places a finger over Ezekiel’s heart. “And your heart, Ezekiel, belongs to the living, not the dead."

Just because the nightmares stop coming doesn’t mean that Ezekiel gives up the training completely. He _likes_ being praised. He _likes_ getting better, stronger, faster. (And if he were honest, he would admit that he _likes_ it when that rare look of pride flashes onto Jenkins’s face and he wonders if this is what having a father might be like.)

They stop meeting at 3 am for tea, but they find other ways to meet outside of their usual training sessions. Ezekiel, upon learning that Jenkins has not watched the Star Wars movies, forces the old man to do a marathon with him in lieu of their usual practice. Jenkins also (albeit reluctantly) becomes the man that does the photographing and video recording for Ezekiel’s social media. (“ _No magic!”_ Jenkins shuts him down quickly, after Ezekiel asks him to photographing him doing a kick flip in outer space. Ezekiel settles for doing it off the Eiffel tower instead.) 

“I’m bringing you into the 21st Century,” Ezekiel declares as he hands Jenkins an iPhone and the old man’s expression is screaming ‘ _Why me_?’

“It’s not stolen,” he adds at Jenkins’s raised eyebrow. 

“Why do I find that so hard to believe?” Jenkins replies wryly, but his smile is kind. He accepts the phone graciously. “Thank you, Mr. Jones.”

The stupid machine chirps moodily, and Jenkins turns to it, “No, you’re not being replaced!” he says exasperatedly.

The stupid machine huffily emits a series of boops and beeps.

Ezekiel swears on his reputation as a master thief that the stupid machine just declared that he likes him better. 

—

—

The fear lurks underneath the surface, always waiting, always watching. At the first moment of opportunity, it strikes him, threatening to gobble him up whole.

When Cassandra is hit by a wayward spell that renders her temporarily comatose, the fear returns in full. The nightmares threaten to bubble up. Ezekiel watches Jacob carry her back, Eve hot on his heels, and he follows them, but it’s hard, because he can’t _breathe_.

He’s breathing, clearly oxygen is coming in out of his lungs, but it doesn’t feel that way at all.  Even as Jenkins reassures her that Cassandra will be fine, it still hurts Ezekiel to draw breath.

All that training… All that prep… And still…

He could have lost her.

 _He could have lost her_.

**_He could have lost her_. **

The illusions he’s been pounding away at vanishes and the stupid machine chirps in apology as Jenkins’s familiar footfalls enter the room.

“Mr. Jones.” He’s almost afraid to look at Jenkins, afraid of seeing what can only be regret or annoyance or displeasure on the old man’s face.

It isn’t disappointment he sees in Jenkins’s eyes.

“Mr. Jones…” Jenkins’s voice is soft. “You did everything you could.”

“She was still hurt!”

“Only hurt and not fatally.” Jenkins reaches out to brush a stray lock of hair out of Ezekiel’s eyes. “She’s here. She’s safe.” His hands give Ezekiel’s shoulders a squeeze. “That’s enough.”

Ezekiel pulls away as the fear threatens to freeze him in place. (Cassandra was still, so very still. She may be comatose, but she looks just like his mother when they lowered her into the unforgiving earth, even as he screamed for her to wake up and come back, come _home_.)

“I should have trained more!” He snarls, “If I were just _stronger_ , I could have—“

“ _Ezekiel_.” Jenkins looks at him as if the old man is staring at his worst nightmare come to life, like he is caught looking at mirror and he’s terrified of what the reflection has become. “Sometimes… Sometimes the best just… just isn’t enough. No matter how hard we fight, sometimes we just _lose_.”

Ezekiel stares at him. “ _Great_ pep talk, Jenkins.”

But he knows that the old man is speaking from experience.

“Ezekiel… There’s no use dwelling on the ifs or the what could have beens. There’s no use on fearing the hypotheticals or the past.” Jenkins reaches out and gently pulls Ezekiel into a warm embrace. “Look at the present. You and Mr. Stone and Colonel Baird _saved_ Ms. Cillian. You all were enough.”

“And when we’re not?” he asks quietly.

“You _will_ be,” Jenkins says with such determination that it melts the fear that has grown icicles on his barely pieced together heart.  “Your greatest strength is your greatest weakness. It doesn’t lie in magic or up here…” Jenkins taps Ezekiel’s forehead. “But it lies in here,” he says as he places a finger over Ezekiel’s heart. “And your heart, Ezekiel, belongs to the living, not the dead. Don’t forget that.”

—

—

He doesn’t.

He takes that lesson to heart.

—

—

The next time, he’s the one who drags an injured Eve back to the Annex, thankfully still in one piece. The fear prowls in the back of his mind, but the warmth of Jenkins’s eyes and Eve’s grateful smile melts it away.

She’ll be fine, he can sense. In the same way that Cassandra would be fine. In the way that they all will be if he has anything to say about it.

Librarians get stabbed and shot and bitten and cursed all the time.

Guardians too.

Probability may not be in their favor, but he’ll do his best to make sure they have a half-way decent hand to begin with.

He’s **_Ezekiel Jones_** , after all, and he’s no longer alone.

—

—

“Are you up for training later?” Jenkins asks when the others are out of earshot later.

Ezekiel hesitates before shaking his head. “Nah. I’m going to go out with the others. Celebrate a job well done and all that.” He pauses before adding, “You should come too.”

“Please.” Jenkins shoos him away, smile wry. “Go away. I’m working.”

“Where have I heard that before?” Ezekiel asks, winking, before going to join the others.

—

—

Jenkins holds him back one evening as the others begin to return home. “Come with me. We’re going shopping.”

“Why **_me_**?” Ezekiel whines. He’s tired from the long day and really just wants to go home, curl up in a ball, and sleep. Besides, online shopping is all the rage now—Jenkins should just upgrade again like the newest iPhone…although, unlike the iPhone, hopefully in an upward direction.

“I need _someone_ to carry the bags,” Jenkins says lightly over his protests as the old man drags him into the other room where the others can’t hear.  “Besides, don’t you want to select your own equipment?” he adds in a much quieter undertone.

Ezekiel’s ears immediately perk up and the tiredness disappears from his eyes. They’d been talking about getting him his own magical equipment for _ages_. “Seriously?” he asks, already bouncing up and down.

“There’s an annual magic market going on right now in England. They have some good materials there.” Before they fire up the backdoor, Jenkins casts a glamour over himself, replacing his usual face with greasy-haired, hooked nose man. “Don’t want to cause too much attention,” Jenkins says before Ezekiel can ask.

“So you’re popular in magical circles?” Smirking, Ezekiel tilts his head as he fires up the backdoor. 

“From a certain point of view.”

Ezekiel laughs, “What should I call you then? Professor Snape?”

Even with the glamour, Ezekiel can tell that Jenkins is unamused. “Anything unrelated to Jenkins will suffice.”

“All right…” His mouth starts moving before he can stop himself. “Dad.” Jenkins freezes. Ezekiel flushes beet red. ( _You’re not my father,_ he notes ruefully, _and I’m not your son.)_  “I mean... Sorry… I mean…”

“It’s fine…” Jenkins reaches out to ruffle his hair. “ _Son_.”

 It’s all part of the disguise, but Ezekiel wishes it’ll last just a bit longer.

—

—

They end up spending the entire night in the open-air market, dodging their way past twittering fairies and gossiping elves and trolls and dragons. The stars gleam in the sky and the moon rises higher and higher as Jenkins takes him around, the two sampling different candies and—much to Ezekiel’s delight—magic pizza with a taste is so divine that he insists on _personally_ buying the cookbook containing the recipe. They pick practical items too, of course—fairy-woven fabric that has protection charms woven into the material, dragon-enchanted gloves for lab work, and a pair of racing goggles that allow the user to detect magical items and change color upon command.

“For your snapchat story,” Jenkins says dryly as he pays the vendor.

Ezekiel laughs, taking the racing goggles from him and placing them around his neck. “Think this’ll be useful out in the field?”

“Not really.” Jenkins shrugs. “But as a wise doctor with a PhD in Awesome told me, the only thing more important than saving the day is looking cool while doing it.”

Ezekiel grins. “That doctor sounds awesome.”

“Well, it _is_ how he got his PhD,” Jenkins says, fondly tousling Ezekiel’s hair. 

The two of them walk further along the rows of booths and stalls. Jenkins leaves to grab a few items from the medicine area, giving Ezekiel some elvish currency and letting him wander on his own. After making his currency double while gambling with some dwarves, Ezekiel somehow finds himself in what looks to be the jewelry section of the market.

Once a thief, always a thief, he supposes with a resigned sigh.

His eyes linger on the sapphire at one rickety old stall. It calls to him in the same way magic must surely call to Jenkins, if the way that stupid machine acts is any indication. He feels its power deep within the marrow of his bones. He _has_ to have it, but the vendor in question only accepts fairy coins.

“We don’t take elvish trash here!” the centaur snaps when Ezekiel tries to use his elvish money. The centaur adjusts his racing jacket and eyes the accessory hanging around Ezekiel’s neck with casual disinterest. “Though… I might be willing to make a trade…”

“For what?” Ezekiel asks, although he already knows the answer.

“Those goggles are pretty cool…”

Ezekiel is unamused. As if he’d _ever_ do that. The goggles are a gift.

It’d be child’s play to steal the jewel, but even though he’s _Ezekiel Jones_ , world class thief, he’s also a Librarian too.

Ezekiel reluctantly forces himself to continue on.

—

(He doesn’t notice Jenkins doubling discretely back and talking in hushed tones with the vendor.) 

—

—

“Thanks for today.” Ezekiel grins as they return back home to the Annex, laden with materials for equipment, food, sweets, and enough pizza to last a lifetime.

“Anytime.” Jenkins smiles. “Get some rest.”

“No tea?” Ezekiel raises an eyebrow. “It _is_ 3 am.”

Jenkins laughs before he goes off to brew some tea for the two of them. 

—

—

—

He’s somehow managed to improve his record with that stupid machine to 75-25, and injuries and magical incidents inflicted on the team has been 0 for the past few weeks. Ezekiel’s half-way done beating a video game with Jacob, he and Cassandra have managed to get the Library hamsters _(“We already have goats, Jenkins!”)_ , and all three of them together have tried every coffeeshop in a fifty-mile radius.

Life is good—until, of course, it _isn’t_.

He has only ever seen Jenkins angry at him once, and it’s all about a box that Ezekiel couldn’t even open.

And it was all that stupid machine’s fault anyway! That stupid machine had been the one to give him the box in the first place.

But he remembers the look on Jenkins’s face like it is yesterday… Probably because it was yesterday. There was a certain darkness in the old man’s eyes, and Ezekiel hates that look in his eyes because it reminds him too much of himself when he too was haunted by nightmares.

“ _Give it back!_ ” Jenkins had roared in front of Cassandra and Jacob. The magical pressure in the room is constricting, and Ezekiel, even with the months of training, can barely breathe. “You have **_no idea_** what you could have done!”

"What could I have done?" Ezekiel shot back, but he quickly returned the box anyway. He knew that tone of voice in Jenkins. That tone of voice was the same one he had when Ezekiel had tried to put the stupid machine at the highest level and had nearly been killed when he went up against an illusion masquerading as Satan.

Jenkins didn’t reply. The silence was answer enough.

—

—

“I’m sorry,” Ezekiel tells him later in private. The stupid machine adds something in Jenkins ear, but the old man waves it away. “I didn’t mean…”

“I’m sorry too.” Jenkins’s voice is thick with emotion, his expression dark. He reminds Ezekiel of a wrathful dragon pacing inside of darkness yearning to touch the light. “I shouldn’t… I shouldn’t have lost my temper. Not at you….” A pause. “I’m sorry. _I’m sorry_.”

Ezekiel doesn’t quite know who he’s apologizing too, but he accepts it nonetheless.

“We’re cool…” Ezekiel trails off uncertainly. “Right?”

Jenkins’s smile doesn’t quite meet his eyes. “Of course.”

—

—

The two of them are cool, Ezekiel realizes, but that doesn’t mean Jenkins is. He seems collected on the outside, but Ezekiel can sense something lurking inside of him, a real—too real—monster roaring with flames that is eating him from the inside.

( _“I know.” Jenkins’s eyes had glimmered with understanding. “Believe me, I know.”_ )

He knows the monster too well.

Fear.

It’s not that Ezekiel doesn’t feel it anymore, but he has been able to _let go_ of his fear—he has his friends, he has that stupid machine, and he has Jenkins. What will come will come, but he is no longer afraid of facing the darkness. (He is a little old to be afraid of the dark.) 

Jenkins, it seems, hasn’t. What he fears, Ezekiel can’t quite see, but he fears something so deeply that it claws him out from the inside slowly until he is just an inferno of fear and rage.

But to even an observant passerby, Jenkins seems fine.

After a few attempts to talk to him about it are gently rebuffed, Ezekiel decides to pretend that Jenkins is fine too.

—

—

—

Sweat is beading at his brow. His arms are beginning to feel heavy, his sword slowly feeling more like his arm and less like his soul. Ezekiel won’t last much longer at this rate.

“The fundamentals—“ Jenkins starts to call from the sidelines, but Ezekiel cuts him off as he rolls past the illusion, sword gripped tightly in his hand.

“—are my life,” he finishes. “I know! I know!”

“Keep your—“

“—cool!” Ezekiel draws the illusion’s sword to his rising parry. He tries to sweep the illusion’s leg, only for it to be leapt over. Ezekiel catches the illusion’s punch, his blade driving forward to just nick the illusion in the side.

“Stop—“

“—playing around!” Ezekiel’s blade is a whirl as his overhand chop smashes past the illusion’s guard, the illusion’s sword clattering from the illusion’s hands. Unlike the last few times, Ezekiel doesn’t let up, even with his blade at the illusion’s throat. Magic, he feels, instinctively curls around the illusion, holding it in place. Finally satisfied, Ezekiel turns to Jenkins. “I know! Better?”

“Better. Much better.” Jenkins reaches out and ruffles his hair, a smile slowly spreading across his face. The stupid machine twitters its congratulations by Jenkins’s side. “Good work, Mr. Jones. I knew you could do it.”

Jenkins is not saying it to him—not exactly. Jenkins’s eyes are looking straight at him, past _Ezekiel Jones_ , master thief, past Ezekiel Jones, _Librarian_ , to just see Ezekiel Jones, the lonely, insecure boy he had once been.

Jenkins, he finally realizes, sees the best and the worst in him and _chooses_ to believe in the best.

 _I knew you could do it_.

It’s the closest Jenkins has ever been to tell him how proud the old man is of him.

As good as he feels about being the greatest thief in the world and a pretty awesome, kick-ass Librarian, Ezekiel has to admit that he likes this better.

—

—

The lock pick kit is more of a joke gift than anything, but Jenkins seems happy enough when he receives it. His smile is genuine when he says, “Thank you, Mr. Jones.” Jenkins ruffles his hair when the others aren’t looking, and Ezekiel can’t help but savor the warm feeling that washes over him.

The gift that Jenkins gives him is one that Jenkins explicitly whispers to open when the others aren’t around.

He finds out why when he slinks off to the training room to open up his gift.

It’s a sword with an intricately carved golden guard. As he looks at it more closely, he recognizes a familiar sapphire stone in the pommel. It still calls to him the same way it did to him that day back at the market, and Ezekiel for the life of him doesn’t know how Jenkins knew.

When he tests out the sword with an experimental swing, he finally understands what Jenkins means when he says that a sword is a reflection of his soul because this sword is a reflection of his.

It may have gold, but it shines like silver, bright and bold like starlight, burning away the darkness. 

He senses Jenkins lingering in the doorway, and Ezekiel can’t help but mumble, “Thank you.”

“It’s stolen,” Jenkins says lightly, the corner of his mouth curling up into a ghost of a smile. “I thought it was apropos.”

It shows how far they’ve come that Ezekiel already knows he’s joking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for everyone's comments! :D It's always great to understand different points of view and it always helps to see other people's perspectives when trying to tie stories and chapters thematically together!   
> I'd ask you all to join the dark side, so I could give you cookies! ...the good kind, not the website kind.   
> Thanks so much! :D :D :D
> 
> Anyone catch the throwback to the first Librarian movie anyone with the summary quote XD? That was fun to write, especially with all the throwbacks and the tie-ins and call forwards and callbacks to one-off lines to the show and the Rise and Fall... The latter which is currently still in the works due to some last minute plot improvements (hopefully). We'll see. Either way, it'll be a nice case of practice what you preach, Jenkins. 
> 
> Let's be real, since the Rule of Three (my fav episode for obvious reasons *cough* Morgan le Fay *cough*), I think it's reasonable to assume that Jenkins has been occasionally abetting Ezekiel's not so legal exploits by turning a blind eye to the backdoor. Thus it seems appropriate to me that he's helping Ezekiel's Snap Story. With magic. Because why not? I personally find it amusing, even though I don't even a Snap Chat. lol 
> 
> Fun fact in terms of swords: Galahad's sword was known as the Sword with the Red Hilt...because it's hilt was red. Very creative name. 
> 
> In this continuity, instead of red and white (like the legends and his father), I made Galahad's colors blue and silver due to magic's and his milder association with blue on the show and Morgan's ring in canon. Also, it's appropriate since Morgan's color is green, Lancelot's is red (based on the armor he wore in S1E10), so Galahad's color is blue to complete the color triangle for light. (Added bonus since they all used to be the good guys!) 
> 
> Also, the quote " Librarians get stabbed and shot and bitten and cursed all the time" ain't mine. That's from S1E2. I didn't write that--just to clarify. Pls don't sue me for a throwback. Oh while I'm doing a disclaimer, I also didn't write "Go away. I'm working." That's a quote from S1E3. 
> 
> Sorry about the long author's note, but thanks for sticking with me! I always appreciate knowing that people do read my stuff. :)
> 
> As always, comments/concerns/opinions are welcome!


	4. not that I loved them less, but I loved you more

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He hopes that one day he too will not just be another scar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> retconning S3E2 (slightly) and spoilers for S3E3, S3E7, S3E8
> 
> Chapter title paraphrasing: Not that I loved Caesar less, but I loved Rome more

He’s bitten, feverish, slightly hallucinating, and he thinks, for a moment, that he is going to die, not literally of course but figuratively. He’s going to be a werewolf, he knows, as the disease chews away at his sense of self, at his humanity.

He wills the surrounding magic to flow through him, forcing his legs to move even though he’s slowly losing control of everything as he is swallowed up by instinct. His hands fumble for the lever and he _pulls_. 

He collapses, because it’s all right now. It’s all right that he will die (figuratively). It’s all right. _It’s all right._

(At least he will die knowing that Cassandra, Flynn, Eve, and Jacob are safe. And that’s all that matters. That’s all that matters in the end.)

Or not, he realizes as he smells a change in the air, as magic is forcibly ripped out of the surroundings and hones in on one person in particular. While Anubis may have been a beacon of magic, Jenkins has become an inferno, a raging half of a binary star that burns hotter than hellfire to the point that even Heaven and earth will not be able to stop him.

For all his warnings about the cost of magic, Jenkins cheats. He uses magic, Ezekiel thinks. He can feel it in his bones. Time is slowing around him, the disease grinding to a dead halt, as Jenkins hauls him back to the Annex and forces the antidote down his throat.

The disease burns away to become nothing more than ash. Ezekiel embraces the darkness, even as Jenkins tells him, “Hang on, _hang on,_ **_hang on!_** _”_

—

—

When he wakes up, it hurts to move.

“Jenkins…” Ezekiel blearily reaches out and a hand grasps his own, giving him a comforting squeeze.

He can hear the monster in Jenkins’s chest roaring, but Ezekiel’s voice has seemingly lulled it, soothed it, so the monster begins to sleep once again. The fear that entraps Jenkins’s heart seems to melt away.

“Don’t move.” Jenkins’s voice seems so far away, murkily in the distance, but he sounds warm, like a roaring hearth on a cold winter’s day. “It’s okay. You’re okay.” A hand runs soothingly through his hair. It’s a hand that is like his mother’s, worried, concerned, and hellbent on making sure that he’s safe.

Eve may be his Guardian, but Jenkins is more than just his Caretaker and Ezekiel is more than just his Librarian.

“You’re going to be fine,” Jenkins whispers. “You’re going to be all right.”  

It’s a promise, Ezekiel can feel. A promise as deep and old as magic itself.

“I know.” Ezekiel smiles. “I know.”

—

—

When he wakes up, the chair next to his bed is empty. He can sense Jenkins’s presence in the kitchen, and as he blearily walks there, he finds the old man brewing a pot of tea in the same suit he wore as the night before.

“You didn’t sleep.” It’s not a question so much as it is a statement, but coming from him, it almost sounds like an accusation. Checking the clock, Ezekiel frowns. “It’s 3 am. Shouldn’t old men be in bed by now?”

“I never sleep for long.” Jenkins offers him a mug. “Tea?”

Ezekiel gratefully accepts the cup. “Thanks.”

“How are you feeling?” Jenkins takes a tentative sip from his own cup.

“Better.”

“Good.” Jenkins reaches out to squeeze Ezekiel’s shoulder. “Don’t be so reckless next time. Be _careful_.”

“It turned out all right.”

“This time.” Jenkins’s entire face darkens, and Ezekiel can hear the echoes of the monster thrashing in his heart. “What about next time?”

Ezekiel grins. “That’s why I have you, isn’t it?”

Jenkins’s entire expression freezes, as if he is looking past Ezekiel straight into the past. (Did he say that too, Ezekiel wonders, to someone he cared about long ago?) Finally, he lets out a heavy sigh. “All the same… Mr. Jones… _Ezekiel_ …” His voice is soft as his fingers float from Ezekiel’s shoulder to cup his cheek. “Value yourself more. Some people… I mean… ** _I_** don’t want to see you dead.”

“I know.”  Ezekiel’s eyes glimmer with understanding. _“I know…_ ”

As he finishes off the rest of his tea and heads off to bed, Jenkins calls after him. “Oh, and Mr. Jones?”

Ezekiel stops and turns in the doorway. “Yes?”

“Next time, bring your sword.” The shadows don’t leave the old man’s face. “It’ll help put the probability in your favor.”

—

—

Jenkins is antsy—he’s always grumpy, but he’s _grouchier_ than usual, if that’s possible. The shadows from before haven’t left his eyes. Ezekiel notices how he subtly nudges the idea of sending Cassandra and Jacob to find Angrboda crystal to Eve, pointedly letting Ezekiel stay back.

Really, Ezekiel should be out there, helping his friends save the world—not cooped up in the Library and waiting. The only thing he can do, save outright rebellion, is to monitor the weather patterns in the area Cassandra and Jacob are exploring.

When he tries to bring it up to the old man, Jenkins shuts him down.  Nessie has an egg and _apparently_ that takes precedence over the other two Librarians that he’s supposed to care for.

(If he hadn’t been so irritated by the situation, Ezekiel would have noticed how worried Jenkins looks whenever babies are mentioned.)

“Why are you holding me back?” Ezekiel instead demands as he stalks Jenkins back to his lab. “Don’t tell me it’s because I’m not ready! Because I’m ready and raring to go!”

“I _know_ you’re ready… It’s not because _you_ aren’t ready...” Jenkins looks at him, and it _hurts_. His gaze burns, consumed in its own flame until it will one day, like stars, go out. “It’s because… you were right all those years ago. The real me is a coward.”

“That’s not—“ Ezekiel’s voice fails him.

Jenkins just leaves him there, dumbstruck.

Because the Jenkins that trained him is _not_ a coward. Not now, not ever.   

—

Eve stands before him, blindfold in hand. Ezekiel barely can keep his face straight at the implications this holds. (He thinks of all the times Jenkins has handed him a blindfold, but he guiltily pushes those thoughts away.)

“Ezekiel, I've seen the kind of Librarian you can become... responsible, a leader, someone people can turn to for help. But you haven't reached that potential yet, and we're gonna change that.”

He loves Eve like the mother he had once had—she brings out the best of him and pushes him to be better, but sometimes, he thinks she doesn’t see him but rather _him_ , his alternate self from the Loom of Fate.

He isn’t that person, will _never_ be that person.

Ezekiel Jones of this universe is **_better_.** Ezekiel is certain that his alternate self never met Jenkins.

Eve continues on, in spite of his vehement protests, “I've set up a series of traps and obstacles in the Library and you're going to guide me through using just your voice.”

An exercise like _this_ is ridiculous—and Ezekiel gets his ass occasionally kicked by a stupid machine named _Bob_.

A few moments later and Ezekiel is already in the other room with his phone and Eve’s keys.

—

—

Jenkins reluctantly lets Eve give the egg to Ezekiel. There is death and sorrow and fear in the old man’s eyes, even as Eve says confidently (with much more trust and belief than she actually feels), “I have every faith in Ezekiel.”

Jenkins’s face darkens, fear consuming what’s left of his heart. “Said no one ever.”

Ezekiel knows the old man well enough that it isn’t him that Jenkins is talking about.

—

He finds out the reason why that evening.

In Jenkins’s lab, Ezekiel finds one photo tucked quietly away in the corner, facedown, out of sight and out of mind, in a place where Jenkins only keeps the things he doesn’t want to remember. _‘Don’t forget me!’_ is written cheekily on the back of the photo. Flipping it over in his hands, he’s met with a picture of a woman with fiery red hair and warm brown eyes.

He recognizes her from the wall of portraits. She’s somewhere kind of remote with her portrait swathed in shadow. Librarian one hundred fifty-two, or something.

A little bit of digging later, Ezekiel discovers that her name was Angela, according to the plaque; she was indeed Librarian one hundred fifty-two. Angela had been the Librarian for seven years (the old longest record before Flynn), before she died retrieving the Hitler’s piece of the Spear of Destiny with her Guardian. 

Looking more carefully at the dead woman’s face, it’s then that he notices that Angela has Jenkins’s eyes and an all too familiar smile. _(“I don’t hurt anyone, darling. That’s the scam,” Morgan le Fay had laughed, grinning._ ) There’s an echo of both of them in her, and Ezekiel can put two and two together to get four. 

Her death was today.

He had nearly died last week.

Oh.

 _Oh_.

—

—

(So _that’s_ the reason why he never wants to talk about Morgan le Fay with Colonel Baird.)

(So _that’s_ the reason why he made Ezekiel stay.)

—

—

The real him isn't a coward. 

The real him is just afraid.

—

—

“Was she your daughter?” Ezekiel asks quietly as they pass Angela’s portrait. Her eyes are shining like stars with hope, even though her picture is cast in shadow.

“In a way.” He hesitates. “Reincarnation is rare,” Jenkins says softly, “but not unheard of.”

“How’d she die?” Ezekiel hurriedly adds at the pained expression on Jenkins’s face, “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to…”

“I couldn’t… save her.” His voice breaks, his eyes boring holes into the floor. “Both times.” Ezekiel looks away as he hears Jenkins fall apart before he sees it. The monster roars in Jenkins chest until there’s only darkness. “Both… times…”

Ezekiel reaches up to give Jenkins’s shoulder a small squeeze and wisely leaves it at that.

—

—

He tends to find himself walking down the hallway lined with the pictures of Librarians past and his feet lead him back to _her_.

He stares at the dead woman’s face and wonders if this will be him years or months or weeks or days from now. That Jenkins will one day treat him like a painful memory whose entire life is framed within a portrait.

Maybe…

Probably…

_…definitely._

He hopes that one day he too will not just be another scar.

So when it’s the anniversary of his mother’s death, he’s alone, standing in front of her grave. He tells her grave (not her, she’s long gone, already decomposed in the dirt) about Cassandra and Jacob and Eve and Flynn and Jenkins, all of their hijinks, lowjinks, and everything in between. He tells her grave about the Library and how he hopes that she can be proud of him now.

Silence is her answer. Silence and pain, a festering wound still after all these years. But the hole in his heart has been filled with his friends and the Library.

That doesn’t mean the past doesn’t hurt still.

“Don’t you have somewhere else you need to be?” he asks, not bothering to turn around. He knows Jenkins’s familiar magical signature like the back of his hand.

“Yes.” Jenkins stands beside Ezekiel, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I’m already there.”

—

The next time he visits his mother’s grave, he doesn’t do it alone.

—

—

He finds out that Jenkins is Galahad before any of the other Librarians or even Eve—if only because Ezekiel got into the habit of calling Jenkins the name of every single lover or spouse Morgan le Fay apparently had according to legend.

“I am not that chauvinistic idiot!” Jenkins had snapped after being called Urien for the thousandth time.

“Well, he’s apparently her _spouse_ , according to Arthurian Legend,” Ezekiel had replied in his best Jacob-Stone and Flynn-Carsen know-it-all voice.

Jenkins had scowled at that. “Well, the legends are wrong!”

“So what’s right then?” he had demanded, half out of curiosity and half out of exasperation.  

“I… well…” Jenkins’s eyes somehow had found a way to focus on a very small spot on the floor. “I _was…_ Galahad.”  

“Galahad…” Ezekiel had done enough research to know all the Knights of the Round Table by heart—and enough to know that Galahad was, putting it politely, the _shit_ back in the old, old days. “ _The_ Galahad?” He couldn’t keep the excitement from his voice. “Grail Knight of Virtue Galahad? Achiever of the Holy Grail Galahad? **_Greatest_** knight in the world Galahad?”

“I don’t think there were any other Galahads of note,” Jenkins had said dryly. “I wasn’t the greatest knight in the world, though—I was only somewhat good.”

“You’re a lot grouchier than the legends would have you believe.” Ezekiel had grinned. “I like this you a lot better.”

Jenkins had tousled Ezekiel’s hair. “You know, I like this you a lot better too.”  

—

—

In his books, Mr. _“You’re Already in Love with Her”_ Stone can go take a hike. Cindy’s cool and all, but one, Ezekiel couldn’t even remember her name, for starters, and two, she’s not really his type. One scan from that stupid machine later reveals a protective amulet hidden deep in his wallet.

He knows that magical signature anyway.

 _(“Because you're completely obsessed with yourself,” Jenkins had said as way of explanation with a completely straight face_.)

Figures, Ezekiel thinks wryly as he places the amulet back in his wallet. It was just like Jenkins, always watching over him.

Still... Ezekiel can't help but think that maybe it wasn't such a good idea to teach the former knight how to pickpocket. 

—

—

He has long since accepted that Jenkins is Galahad, though Jenkins continues to insist to all of them that he really wasn’t the greatest knight in the world. “I was only somewhat good,” Jenkins swears. “The rest is just Lancelot making up nonsense. The legends are wrong. Lancelot, it seems, is the precursor to what fanfiction writers call the real person fiction writer.” At Eve and Jacob’s obvious bewilderment and protests, Jenkins adds pointedly, “Besides, I’m an old man now. Quite useless.”

That stupid machine seems to beg to differ when Ezekiel asks him about it, but Galahad supposedly is honest, so Ezekiel decides to take what he says at face value. (But Jenkins isn’t Galahad, he knows, and Jenkins is anything but.)

That is until he sees Jenkins at the resort, feels his magic power, the sword that shines as brightly as his soul in his hands, and all Ezekiel can think as he watches Jenkins haul Cassandra back into the Annex is: Somewhat good _my ass_.

—

—

As they wait for Cassandra’s prognosis, Ezekiel finds his way to Jenkins, who looks every one of his thousand and some years. The hellfire in the old man’s eyes is as terrifying as the cold fear and the monster burning a hole in his chest.

Ezekiel’s worried, but not fearful. There’s a huge difference. 

“Here.” Ezekiel nudges a cup of steaming tea into his hands. “You should get some sleep.”

He jolts the old man back to reality. The hellfire in Jenkins’s eyes burn down to the cinders, snuffing the fire out. Jenkins tentatively accepts the cup with a grateful smile. “The student’s become the master now?”

Ezekiel grins, reaching out to give Jenkins’s shoulder a comforting squeeze. “A wise man once told me that I had to learn to let go.”

“Sounds like a windbag.” Jenkins ruffles Ezekiel’s hair.

They both laugh quietly.

—

—

“Mr. Stone told me you brought your sword this time,” Jenkins says as they share a pot of tea. Cassandra is going to be fine, but it’s 3 am and neither of them can sleep. Ezekiel’s too awake from the caffeine at the hospital and the worry, and Jenkins is…well, being Jenkins about the entire thing.

“I do listen to you, you know.” Ezekiel rolls his eyes affectionately. “We’ll have to go back tomorrow and get it, won’t we…” He’s not looking forward to meeting Estrella again and serve as a living reminder that her family is gone and the life she had once known has been irrevocably shattered.  

“For next time.” Jenkins tosses him a silver pen. “Don’t you lose your weapon. This weapon is _your_ life!” he says, in a remarkably accurate Obi-wan-impression that Ezekiel has to smother a snort.  

Ezekiel uncaps the pen and finds his sword shining in his hand. Capping it once again, Ezekiel finds his sword transform back into an unassuming pen. Even exhausted and worried, Ezekiel can’t help now but laugh uncontrollably.

“You ripped off Percy Jackson, didn’t you? You ripped off _Riptide_?” Ezekiel grins. “You actually looked at the books I told you to read?” He had suggested an entire bunch of them a few months ago, ranging from Harry Potter to the Inheritance Cycle to A Song of Ice and Fire to Twilight in order to educate the old man on popular culture.

He has a feeling that the old man looked at all of them.

Jenkins is unamused. “Sometimes I too examine books far lower than my reading level.”

“Did you read Twilight too?”

“You wish,” he snorts, and the shadow seems to lift off his face. “Go to bed.”  

Ezekiel grins. “You too.”

—

—

Ezekiel doesn’t know exactly how he got roped into it, but Flynn and Eve have somehow managed to drag him off to where Flynn and Excalibur usually practice to try to, as Eve puts it, “train him up.”

Ezekiel bites back the retort that he’s already being trained by the greatest knight in the world and that stupid machine so nah, he’s good. He has a feeling that Jenkins doesn’t want them to know about the training room.

At least not yet.

“So we’re sparring?” Ezekiel frowns as Excalibur flies into Flynn’s hands.

“Yup!” Flynn gives him an enthusiastic smile. Flynn, at least, is trying to let him do his own thing, and Ezekiel can appreciate the effort the older man is putting in. “Try to take me down a peg or too!”

Doing that won’t be hard at all, he thinks dryly. 

Ezekiel can see five openings and three errors with Flynn’s stance. Flynn’s fundamentals are meh at best—Ezekiel can tell that the man’s been taught by a floating sword. It probably doesn’t help that Flynn’s also kinda out of practice. “All right.”

He reluctantly takes the blade that Eve offers him. It’s not as good as his own sword, but it will do. Jenkins always goes on and on about adapting to the environment and training with unfamiliar weapons.

“What kind of field are we fighting on?” Ezekiel rolls his shoulders back, stretching.

“Field?”

“Environment,” Ezekiel hastily corrects. That stupid machine and its stupid phases and its stupid settings and his stupid instincts.

Flynn mulls it over for a second. “Normal?”

“All right.” Ezekiel spins the blade in his hands, testing its balance out with a swing. Heavily weighted to the tip, he notes distastefully. The balance is all off.

Flynn readies his stance. “Your move, Jones!”

“Okay.” Ezekiel’s senses are on high alert. He can feel the excitement rolling off Flynn in waves, the cool anticipation, the experience of ten years, and his partnership with Excalibur, even if it wasn’t with this particular sword. Flynn is slightly taller and stronger. (“He’ll have a longer reach,” Jenkins voice seems to echo in his head, “but you’ll be faster.”) Ezekiel springs forward, blade angled for the kill.

Flynn parries it with Excalibur, glancing away Ezekiel’s blow. Flynn thrusts forward, only to find Ezekiel’s blade smashing it aside before Ezekiel closes in with shallow cut of his own. He just misses as Flynn steps away, putting more distance between the two of them.

Ezekiel charges forward, blade flashing up into Flynn’s eyes. Flynn winces, but Excalibur guides his hands to parry Ezekiel’s slash. Ezekiel instinctively parries the riposte, beating Flynn’s blade upward as he closes in before Flynn can stop his counterattack. Flynn raises his blade high and Ezekiel’s free hand shoots up to slam into Flynn’s nose before Flynn can react.

Ezekiel smirks. That stupid machine is much faster than any human’s reflexes. Another blow and Excalibur clatters from Flynn’s hands. Ezekiel kicks the sword away.

“Yield,” Ezekiel says mildly, the point of his blade pressing insistently to Flynn’s throat.

Eve gapes. “Ezekiel! How did you— What the—“

“I yield.” Flynn raises his hands in surrender. Ezekiel moves the blade from his throat. Flynn looks at Ezekiel with newfound respect, and Excalibur drifts near him, curious. “Wow! _Wow_! **_Wow!_** Where’d you learn how to fight like that, Jones? Could have told us sooner!”

Ezekiel shrugs, his eyes drifting up to where he notices Jenkins watching on the balcony. Ezekiel doesn’t miss the smug look of satisfaction and pride on Jenkins’s face. It’s as gone as quickly as it appears, but Ezekiel sees it, and that’s all that counts. As reserved as he usually is, even Jenkins can’t keep himself from grinning widely, like a…

Like a proud father.

“Oh. You know.” Ezekiel turns to give them both a grin. “I took a leaf out of Stone’s book and started reading.”

—

—

He slips away as fast as he can, finding Jenkins already waiting in the hallway. The old man’s eyes are soft. “That was a splendid strike. Excellent work, Ezekiel.”

Ezekiel, he notices, not Mr. Jones, and that alone means the world. 

He doesn’t know how to express the warmth burning in his heart, so he just flies up and gives the old man a bonecrushing hug.

To his surprise, Jenkins hugs him just as tightly back. “I told you that the Library doesn’t make mistakes,” Jenkins whispers fiercely in his ear. Ezekiel can feel the emotions rolling off Jenkins— _I believe in you. I love you._ _I’m so very, very, very proud of you._ “I’m proud of you,” Jenkins says out loud. “I’m so very, very, very proud of you.”

Hearing it aloud makes it all the more real.

Ezekiel finds his voice. “I couldn’t have done this— _any_ of this—without you.”

“Not at all.” Jenkins shakes his head, his smile threatening to split his face in two. Ezekiel sees a glimpse of Galahad in Jenkins’s smile, of the knight in shining armor with stars in his eyes and hope blazing in his heart. (Maybe, Ezekiel thinks, he was as good as the legends said he was.) “ _I’m_ the one who’s honored to have taught _you_.”

Ezekiel opens his mouth to protest, but Jenkins silences him with the merest shake of his head. “You’ve always been destined for greatness. Your courage, your determination, your compassion... Your greatness lies in the greatness of your heart.” Jenkins ruffles Ezekiel’s hair before pointing a finger at his chest. “This is all _you_ , Ezekiel.”

Ezekiel finds he has nothing to say.

—

—

Out of the blue, Jenkins drags Ezekiel away to his workshop without any explanation. Ezekiel is already thinking of all the things he could have possibly broken and if that stupid machine had ratted him out _again_. This time it actually isn’t his fault—it was all the new artifact’s and Jacob and… Ezekiel stops mid-sentence at the look that Jenkins gives him.

Instead of reprimanding him, Jenkins motions for Ezekiel to come closer, a little too calm for a caged dragon that may or may not bite his head off. "Here. Take this.” Jenkins presses the locket into Ezekiel's palm with a gentle insistence.

Ezekiel’s brow furrows as he flips the locket over in his hand. There is magic in it, buried deep within the sapphire blue stone and silver chain. It sings a song of protection and power and transcendent love and black despair of unendurable heartbreak. “What is it?”

“An heirloom,” Jenkins replies simply. 

Ezekiel starts. “Don’t you generally give those to family?” It feels too heavy to be just an heirloom. There is history interwoven with the silver, long and deep, as old as Camelot itself.

Jenkins gives him a gentle smile. “Why else do you think I’m giving it to you?”

Ezekiel stares at him, pressing the necklace back into Jenkins hands. A lump rises up in his throat. "I… I… can't." ( _You’re not my father, and I’m not your son.)_  

"Then hold onto for me.” Grinning, Jenkins nudges the pendant into Ezekiel’s hands.  "Safest place in the world is with the greatest thief in the world and one of the best and bravest Librarians I have ever known."

And then he leaves Ezekiel standing there, struck dumb with the pendant tightly clenched in the Librarian’s hands.

—

—

Jenkins never asks for the locket back, and somehow, the pendant wanders its way onto Ezekiel’s neck.

It weighs heavily on his chest, but it’s the good kind of weight. The weight of the Library. The weight of his friends. The weight of Jenkins’s pure, unadulterated love for him.

The weight of having a family—a real family—for the first time.

And he’ll protect them all until his last breath.

—

—

It’s 3 am, and Ezekiel is sound asleep. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's all folks (for this leg of the race, anyway!) My small thief child is all trained up and ready for the Rise and Fall...which I swear I'll update after I finish prepping for my interview later this week. ...the struggle of trying to be a real person, I suppose... :(
> 
> If you didn't get the beginning/middle, I suggest checking out race you to the bottom, but hopefully I wrote it in such a way that even if you didn't, you can still understand it. 
> 
> I think the additional backstory and world-building helps when viewing S3E3 (the one with all the frost giants!). Personally, I was annoyed by the episode since it felt a little out of character for everyone involved. So the solution of course is to add more angst! 
> 
> Because logic. 
> 
> I thought it would be fun to let Ezekiel beat Flynn at swordfighting with Jenkins looking and thinking, 'Ha, Judson! My heir is better than yours!' To be fair, Flynn is out of practice and Excalibur is still wonky after being reforged and Ezekiel's being taught by a man who regularly kicked Excalibur's butt so...it's within reasonable assumptions that Ezekiel could win. In this continuity anyway. 
> 
> Still working on that Charlene x Jenkins fic for this continuity to still fit within canon parameters. It's a struggle. But yes, in this continuity, Jenkins got kicked to the Annex for multiple reasons, including him and Judson disagreeing about how to use the artifacts for the coming war. He is still salty about it. 
> 
> Thank you for all of your support! Thanks for leaving comments, kudos, and just reading this work!  
> I'm very grateful and appreciate you taking the time to look this piece over!!!!  
> Hope you enjoyed this work!
> 
> As always, feel free to leave your opinions/questions/concerns!

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from Shakespeare's play Julius Caesar. All of the chapter titles will also come from that play.


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